The Last, Long Night

by Ginny Dye

  Abby sighed heavily as her thoughts spun in the spring heat.

  “That was a mighty heavy sigh, Mrs. Livingston,” her driver observed, turning to smile back at her.

  Abby managed to return the smile. “I suppose it was, Cyrus. I have a lot on my mind.” She had developed a solid liking for her driver who had escaped a plantation in Mississippi and found his way to the capital in 1862 when the city outlawed slavery, even before the Emancipation Proclamation. For the first couple years, he had worked on the fortifications until he had enough money to buy a horse and carriage. Now he transported the endless stream of people flowing in and out of the city.

  “Are you glad to be here, Cyrus?”

  “I reckon I am,” he said easily as he gazed around. “I know this city still be pretty rough. Not enough of the streets be paved, and I know things don’t smell so good because they don’t collect the garbage enough, but I reckon it’s better than being a slave.”

  Not to mention the swarms of mosquitos breeding in dank canals and sewers, nor the poor ventilation in most public buildings, Abby added silently as she gazed around at the struggling city.

  Cyrus clucked to the horses and then continued, “I reckon I got things a whole heap easier than all them men fighting this here war. Them hospitals seem to be full all the time, and I hear things didn’t go so good for our boys down around Richmond.”

  Abby grimaced. She’d heard the numbers too.

  “It be true about that amendment to the Constitution?” Cyrus asked suddenly, his intense eyes belying his casual tone.

  “Well, I can tell you the process to make the Thirteenth Amendment part of our Constitution has begun,” Abby said, bringing her mind back to the main reason she was willing to endure this season in Washington.

  “It really gonna ban slavery?” Cyrus asked hopefully.

  “Yes,” Abby said firmly. “Lincoln is solidly committed to the abolition of slavery.”

  “Yessum,” Cyrus agreed, “but do you reckon Lincoln gonna be president again? If he ain’t, do you still figure that amendment gonna happen?”

  “That’s the question of the day,” Abby admitted. “Lincoln is a good man. I hate to think what will happen in our country if he’s not re-elected, but the war is going badly, and people need someone to blame.”

  “You don’t blame him?”

  “No,” Abby replied instantly. “I blame all the non-thinking hotheads on both sides that made this happen far before Lincoln became president. I’m sure he’s made mistakes along the way, but he was thrust into a war no one ever imagined would become the horror it has become.”

  “So you don’t think he’ll be president again?”

  “I don’t know what to think, but I do believe it’s too early to know. People are sick of the war. They’re sick of losing so many of our boys and men. They’re sick of what it means for their families. But people are funny - if we start winning this war, feelings will change. Men will still die in horrific numbers, but if we start winning and the end is in sight, people’s feelings will change. Lincoln will stand a chance then.”

  “You know about that thing that happened out in Montana, Mrs. Livingston?”

  Abby looked at Cyrus sharply. “How in the world did you hear about all that?”

  “I learn all kinds of things driving this carriage around,” he said with a smile. “Some of it I know better than to repeat. But that whole thing out there about Montana wanting to be a state, but being told they had to let the black man vote before they could become one sure did get my attention.”

  Abby nodded. “It did seem a little silly to me since there are no black men in Montana, but I know it’s about more than that. The country is trying to find its way forward in ending slavery and making you equal.”

  “What you think about the black man having the vote?” Cyrus asked suddenly.

  “I think it absolutely should happen,” Abby responded instantly. “You should be free, you should be a citizen, and you should have the right to vote and have a voice in this country.”

  “Don’t that bother you none?” Cyrus pulled up to the building where Abby had her meeting and turned to her. “I mean, women been free from the beginning, and you a citizen, but you don’t get to vote. Don’t it bother you that someone like me might get to vote before you?”

  Abby took a deep breath. “It’s wrong for you not to be able to vote. It’s also wrong for women not to have the vote. But to take it from you just because we want it first would also be wrong. To hold it from blacks would do nothing to ensure women would get it.” She smiled up at him. “We’ll continue to fight for both of us to have the right to vote. I can only hope that when it has happened every woman and every black person will take advantage of the power it gives us.”

  “Why, nothing would keep me from voting iffen I had the chance,” Cyrus protested.

  “I agree with you, but there are too many people who want to criticize what is happening without being involved in the process. Take this war. The people of the United States let just a handful of hot-tempered men decide their future. And now we are paying the price.” Abby stared off into the distance where men were finishing the dome of the Capitol building. “If more people had stood up and let their voices be heard, could we have stopped the death of so many of our nation’s men and boys, the destruction of so much of our country? We’ll never know, but I believe it would have been different.”

  Abby glanced toward the door of the building, saw a group of women going in, and quickly gathered her things. “My greatest hope is that when this war is over, the people of this nation will not just sit back and let others dictate their future. The reunion will be every bit as difficult as the war.”

  “Say what?” Cyrus exclaimed. “How you figure that?”

  Abby shook her head sorrowfully. “However this war ends, there will be a deep bitterness on both sides. I’m afraid people will simply want revenge, and that even if the armies go home, people will continue fighting.” She stared off into the distance. “They’ll just find another way to fight.”

  She shook her head again and stepped out of the carriage. “I’ll be here for about two hours. Will you pick me up later?”

  “Yessum, Mrs. Livingston. I be here.” Cyrus hesitated. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” Abby paused as she headed up the sidewalk.

  “You done made me do some thinking. I don’t want to be one of them people who just let things happen. I reckon I going to find a way to let my voice be heard in this country, no matter what happens with that amendment – but I sho gonna pray it goes through.”

  “Thank you, Cyrus.” Abby reached out and touched his arm. “You give me hope for the future.” Then she turned and joined the other women on the building’s porch.

  Abby nodded greetings to all the women on the porch and moved inside. “Will Dorothea be here today?” she asked the woman closest to her.

  “I know she’s going to try, but the new influx of patients from the fighting in Virginia is occupying most of her time.”

  “Of course.” Abby was hoping to meet the famous Dorothea Dix she had heard so much about. She’d been aware of the woman’s pioneering work in setting up hospitals for the insane before the war and hadn’t been surprised when Dorothea showed up in the capital right after the war started to offer her services. She had been rebuffed at first because everyone, including all government officials, thought the war would be short-lived. It hadn’t taken them long to change their minds and accept the help she offered.

  Abby’s attention was called to the front of the room when one of the women stood up and turned to address them. “Dorothea sent a message that she will be late, but she will be here.”

  Abby smiled. One of her goals for this trip to Washington was to make connections Carrie would need after the war. Three years of war and distance had done nothing to diminish the love she had for the spirited young girl who had arrived at her home for a visit with Abby’s niece before the war b
egan.

  Carrie was now a young woman being tempered by the reality of medical service in the war. She had drilled Matthew for information about Carrie when he returned from his time in prison. Abby was determined to do everything she could to lay the foundation for Carrie’s dream of becoming a doctor. Meeting the superintendent of nursing was near the top of Abby’s list.

  One of the women standing close to Abby touched her hand. “Is it true that this is the first time in our nation’s history that our army is being cared for by women, and that Miss Dix is the superintendent of women nurses?”

  “Yes, it’s true,” Abby replied, “but not everyone has been happy with it.” She smiled as she thought about what Dorothea had accomplished. “She started with a completely volunteer corps of nurses. But she was able to set up a system of compensation so all the women were paid by the government. Now close to fifty thousand women take care of our soldiers.”

  “Oh, my!”

  Abby frowned. “Not everyone reacted as enthusiastically as you. Far too many doctors and surgeons were quite put off with the power Dorothea Dix held over their hospitals.”

  “What happened?”

  “They passed new laws that keep the women nurses from being paid, and they’ve given the power back to the senior medical officers of each hospital. Dorothea has lost a great deal of her power and influence,” Abby said flatly. Then she smiled. “Not that it has slowed her down any.”

  Another woman leaned in. “Did you hear about what happened at the battle of Antietam?”

  Both Abby and the other woman shook their heads.

  “Dorothea was out on the battlefield – right in the midst of the fighting! She was holding the head of a wounded soldier in her lap so she could give him water. He was laying right there in her lap when he suddenly jerked and died instantly.”

  “From what?” Abby asked, her heart pounding from the image she could see so clearly.

  “A musket ball hit him directly in the head. Dorothea stood up and took her water to the next soldier who was down.”

  Abby’s eyes filled with tears. She knew nothing could stop that kind of compassion and caring. Regardless of Dorothea’s rank or position, she would continue to serve every way she could. “What does she need from us?”

  Just then Dorothea walked into the room. Applause welcomed her, but she held up her hand impatiently and walked to the front of the room. Dark hair carefully pulled back into a bun framed a strong, caring face. “Thank you all for coming. I can only stay a few minutes because the wounded from Richmond are flowing into the city.” She gazed around the room. “All of you are women of influence from other cities. I need your help to mobilize the women in your city to sacrifice even more to take care of our soldiers. We need everything….”

  She motioned to two women standing on the side of the room. “I’ve asked these women to prepare a list of what we need. I pray you all will take it and do what you can to get the supplies.”

  She moved toward the door as if to leave but then turned back to scan the room. “Is there an Abigail Livingston here?”

  Abby stepped forward immediately, mystified as to why she was being singled out. “Yes, I’m here.”

  “Will you please walk out with me?”

  Not caring what had created this small miracle, Abby fell into place beside her. “What can I do for you?”

  “I just wanted to thank you,” Dorothea said warmly. “I’ve heard you single-handedly have sent down more barrels of goods, including medical supplies, to the contraband camp at Fort Monroe than all the other people combined. You are obviously a very powerful woman.” She smiled broadly. “And I like to surround myself with powerful women. It gives me hope for the future.”

  Abby laughed and reached down to squeeze the woman’s hand. “I feel the exact same way. I will send a letter to the women of Philadelphia as soon as I get back to my room.”

  Dorothea nodded. “I was quite sure of that. Now, what can I do for you?”

  Rendered speechless for a moment, Abby stared at her.

  Dorothea smiled. “We all need to stick together. I know more about you than you know, Abby. You have touched so many lives. Is there anything I can do for you?”

  Abby’s heart swelled with gratitude. “Not right this moment, but as soon as the war is over,” she said quickly, “there is a young woman, down in Richmond, that has a passion to be a doctor. She is like a daughter to me. She is working in Chimborazo right now. When this war is over, I want you to meet her and help her connect with the medical colleges for women.”

  Dorothea smiled. “I would be honored,” she said immediately. “Bring her to me at any time.” She squeezed Abby’s hand. “And now I have to go. Thank you so much for everything.”

  “The same to you, Dorothea,” Abby whispered and then reached out to embrace the older woman in a warm hug. “God bless you.”

  Rose walked slowly down the dusty road back to the cabin she shared with Moses’ sister, June, and her baby boy, Simon. One of the other women had brought baby John home earlier, but it was time for Rose to feed him. She knew he would be demanding his mama very soon. The image brought a soft smile to her face. She loved her baby with a fierceness that surprised even her, and she hoped the day would come when she could have more children with Moses. She gently touched the envelope in her pocket.

  It had been a long day, but the advances her students were making filled her heart with such joy. All of them, even the youngest, were now reading and writing and absorbing all the books Aunt Abby was sending down in the barrels that arrived every week.

  Rose took deep breaths of the soft spring air. If not for constant worry about Moses, nothing would have marred the happiness she experienced as a teacher. It was everything she had ever dreamed it would be.

  Rose knew the war would come to an end. She already had so many plans for how she would help her people as well as how she would continue her education.

  She was just steps from the porch of their cabin when the door flung open and June ran out onto the porch. “Rose! Come quick!”

  Rose’s heart sprang to her throat as she ran up the stairs onto the porch. “John? What’s wrong?” Her alarm was lessened by the smile spreading on June’s face. “What’s going on?”

  “You don’t want to miss the first one,” June said simply, motioning her inside.

  When Rose walked inside the cabin, her baby John had pulled himself up next to the chair, his hand grasping it with a look of determination she recognized instantly. It was the same one Moses got when he was about to do something important.

  John looked up, saw her enter the cabin, and gave her a big smile. “Mama!” he sputtered, then held out his arms to her, and tottered across the floor. He took only three steps before he fell, but his grin never wavered. “Mama!”

  Rose scooped him up and held him close. “What a big boy!” she cried. “You walked! Won’t your daddy be so proud of you when he sees you again?” She forced down the tears that threatened to come because Moses had missed his son’s first steps, and instead she focused on celebrating.

  “Walk,” John babbled, kicking his feet.

  Rose laughed, lowered him to the floor, and joined June in cheering as John practiced his new skill.

  The house had grown quiet, with John and Simon tucked in bed and June in her own room, before Rose opened the envelope she had carried in her pocket all day. She had not wanted to share this moment with anyone.

  Dear Rose,

  You’re right. Matthew is a good man. I’m so glad I got to meet him. And I’m glad I can get a letter to you through him. But I can’t help wishing I was the one who could bring it to you.

  There are times I fear this war will never end. Pompey is dead, as are many of my men. There are times I want to run away and just come back to you and John.

  Rose wiped at the tears streaming down her face.

  But then I remember why I’m doing this. I remember my daddy. And your daddy. And your mama. I rem
ember I’ve got to go back and find Sadie and my mama. I have to help them build a new life. I can only do that if we are all free. So I will continue to fight.

  Mostly, though, I will continue to hold close the truth of how much you love me. It means everything to me, Rose. It’s all that keeps me going most of the time. You and John. I will do everything I can to come home to you. I love you so much.

  Moses

  Rose grasped the letter to her heart, listened to John’s even breathing in his crib, and finally slept.

  Her dreams that night were all of her husband fighting to survive in the midst of death, flashing guns, and burning smoke.

  Chapter Nine

  Carrie was upstairs in her room, washing off the dust from the streets and changing her dress, when she heard her father’s voice boom through the house.

  “Jeremy! It’s good to see you, son!”

  Carrie smiled; glad to know Jeremy had come home safely. She had daily scanned the list of dead and wounded for him, grateful she had not found his or Robert’s name on that hated list. It was not conclusive however…

  “Aren’t you going on down?” Georgia asked. “I’ll be fine.”

  Carrie shook her head. “I’ll give my father some time with Jeremy. It will be a little while before May has dinner ready.” She turned back to Georgia. “I wanted to talk to you, anyway.”

  Georgia nodded. “I’m doing right well. I reckon it’s time for me to go back to the hospital. It shouldn’t be long before I can go back to fighting.”

  “That’s not what I wanted to talk to you about,” Carrie responded, “though I am pleased you’re doing so well.”

  “My arm is getting better every day. I’m even starting to use it a little.”

  “Ready to shoot a gun with it?” Carrie asked.

  “Well…,” Georgia hesitated and then admitted. “My aim might not be so good.”